


As Boundless as the Sea

by chicago_ruth



Category: Original Work
Genre: Established Relationship, Getting Together, Gods, Immortals, M/M, Pining, Polyamory, Romance, Sailing, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21848380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/pseuds/chicago_ruth
Summary: Captain Ajibola's heart belongs to the sea, both figuratively and literally. He can't afford to be attracted to the young scholar who doesn't even believe in the ocean god.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 50
Collections: Holly Poly 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enviropony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enviropony/gifts).



It was a good day to set sail, the wind blowing eastward and the air warm and fresh.

It was always a good day to set sail when Ajibola was ready to head out. He hadn’t had a stormy morning in years. He would have claimed it was due to experience and proper planning, perhaps even luck, but he knew the truth.

None of his passengers did, though, so they commented on the good weather as they stepped on board. Ajibola smiled and nodded at them, then had one of the crew direct them to their cabins and help them stow their luggage.

The last man to board was different from the others. He didn’t wear the bright blue sash of a pilgrim, and he hadn’t shorn half his hair off in deference. No, he had medium-length hair in small, thin dreads, and he wore a scholar’s red-trimmed linen robes.

He also struggled with two large bags, where the other passengers came with minimal belongings.

Ajibola thought of letting the man figure himself out, but the determined look in the man’s eyes won him over.

“Welcome aboard,” Ajibola greeted. “I am Captain Ajibola. Can I help you with your bags there?”

The man smiled at him. “I’m Nosakhare. And I would really appreciate that, thank you.” He set one bag down. “I might have overpacked, but I just couldn’t make up my mind.”

Ajibola bent to retrieve the bag, and was surprised at how heavy it was. “Did you fill this with rocks?”

“No, just books.” Nosakhare tilted his head apologetically. “I wasn’t sure what I would need. It is a long trip.”

It was indeed a long trip—two months to get there if the weather was favorable, longer if it wasn’t. Ajibola was used to it by now, ferrying pilgrims from the continent to the small island temple, so to him the time flew by. He couldn’t even remember how many years he’d been making the trip now.

“Your fellow travelers will tell you that the point is to go without,” Ajibola said as he led them to the passenger deck.

“I am not traveling for the same reasons they are, so it matters not to me what they think.”

Nosakhare was slow to follow, looking around eagerly and pausing to greet the sailors.

What reason could there possibly be to travel two months to an island in the middle of nowhere if not to visit the temple of Okun and pay respects to the god of the oceans? In the many years that Ajibola had made this trip, he had never met somebody whose interests lay elsewhere.

Perhaps it was simply this oddity that drew him to Nosakhare in the first place.

* * *

They set sail and made good time, as always. The city disappeared behind the horizon, and soon the land did as well. They were left only with the open waters, wind filling their sails and propelling them forward at a brisk pace.

Once everything was in order, Ajibola made his way to where the passengers had congregated on the deck. Nosakhare was stood apart from them, looking a bit queasy as he leaned heavily against the railing. He had his eyes firmly closed.

“It is better to look, if you feel unwell,” Ajibola commented to him.

Nosakhare gave him a pitiful look. “But if I open my eyes, I feel worse.”

“No. Don’t look at the ship. Look at the horizon. Look at the waves. Your mind will become more accustomed to it. And breathe deeply—the fresh air helps too.”

Nosakhare seemed skeptical, squinting at him, but then he turned to face the horizon and took a long, heavy breath.

It took a few moments, but Ajibola saw the tension in him ease. “You see? I’ve been on ships most of my life. You are not the first to have seasickness, believe me.”

Nosakhare smiled and nodded, though he kept his eyes on the horizon. “Yes. You are indeed more of an expert on these matters than I am.”

That should have been the end of the conversation, but Ajibola couldn’t shake the lingering curiosity. Nosakhare stood out even more now, amidst his fellow travelers, than he had while boarding.

“You said you were not traveling for the same reason as the others.”

“I did.”

When no further answer seemed forthcoming, Ajibola pressed, “So why would a scholar wish to travel to Okun’s Temple?”

Nosakhare shrugged. “I have a theory. I proposed my study to my superiors at the university, and they approved it. And—I’m very sorry, but I’m not feeling up for conversation. Another time?”

The nausea was clearly an excuse to avoid the topic, but Ajibola was not one to pry people for their secrets. He tipped his hat and went to talk to the other passengers.

They, at least, were clear in their excitement.

* * *

A week out at sea, and Ajibola had gotten to know most of the passengers. They were a good set, nobody too religious to decry fun. One woman was a skilled dancer, and she’d taken to teaching the crew when they had free time. They all told stories, and they looked out for each other. Even the young girl, suffering from some unknown illness, did her best to smile and join in all the activities.

Nosakhare did not set himself apart, per se, but it was clear he did not fit in with them either. He spoke of his studies, sometimes, and was animated when he did, but he looked uncomfortable during the evening prayers to Okun.

But his smile was nice, and despite his reserved nature Ajibola enjoyed their quiet conversations.

He contemplated approaching Nosakhare that evening, too, to play cards or enjoy a quiet drink, and had almost made up his mind when he felt a cold hand on his neck.

“He’s a pretty one, isn’t he?” a rough voice whispered into his ear.

Ajibola did his best not to react. He was on the quarter deck, looking out on the deck below. The moonlight was strong enough that he’d be visible to most of the people still milling about.

“Who do you mean?” he responded quietly.

The hand lifted from his neck, only to settle on his stomach, underneath his clothes and yet not ruffling them at all.

“Your scholar. He’s a bit young, but I can see the appeal."

Ajibola turned his head, and was confronted with Okun’s visage.

Every time Ajibola saw Okun, he was different, yet he always recognized him. Whether Okun appeared young or old, handsome or ugly, there was something about him that gave him away.

This time, Okun had taken the form of a hearty warrior, with skin darker than Ajibola’s and pink scars all over his face. He wore no shirt, which allowed Ajibola to see the pierced nipples and the swirls of tattoos all over his well-muscled body.

“He is not _my_ scholar,” Ajibola answered carefully. “You know that my heart beats only for you.”

The cold hand traveled up to Ajibola’s chest and settled over his heart. “Of course I know. But I am not here all the time. You are still a man, with a man’s desires.”

But while he’d idly admired Nosakhare, Ajibola could not imagine betraying Okun—and not simply because Okun favored him and made his voyages easy and safe. It was not the gifts that Okun brought, fish to keep them all fed, baubles to decorate his quarters, clothes and jewels that would suit any noble.

It was not, even, Okun’s waters filling his veins, keeping him alive and unaging for over a hundred years now.

It was the care that Okun took with him, a soft and gentle stream, when Ajibola knew that Okun could rage and destroy. It was the excited way that Okun would show him new sights, the rough way he kissed, and his commitment to giving Ajibola happiness.

“Have I ever demanded faithfulness of you, my chosen one?” Okun asked.

“No, but I give it willingly.” Ajibola wished he could kiss Okun’s hand, but he was conscious of all the possible eyes on him, who would see him kissing nothing but air.

Okun embraced Ajibola tightly, and then dissolved into water and disappeared, leaving not even a drop behind to hint of his presence.

Ajibola sighed and set his gaze back on the rest of the ship. The pilgrims had all retired, and most of the crew was sleeping too. He saw Nosakhare sitting against the railing, looking up at the stars.

If Okun had not visited, Ajibola might have been tempted to join him. As it was, he returned to his own cabin and settled in for a restless night.

* * *

It was near noon, with the sun high above them. Whoever could avoid being in the sun did, taking refuge below deck to escape the heat.

Nosakhare was the only one above deck who was not required to be there, and he stood with his gaze fixed out on the horizon, paper and charcoal in his hands.

Despite his misgivings, Ajibola approached. “It is not a good idea to stay out here in this heat,” he warned.

Nosakhare startled and dropped his charcoal. It rolled across the deck to Ajibola’s feet; he picked it up and held it out to Nosakhare.

“Thank you,” Nosakhare said. He set the charcoal back to the paper. “I’m in the middle of something though.”

He’d drawn the horizon, as well as something long and thin stretching out from the waves. Ajibola blinked, then set his gaze to where Nosakhare was looking.

Indeed, he was copying what was in front of their eyes. A pink appendage waving at them above the water.

“Why—why are you drawing that?” Ajibola asked, struggling to keep his voice firm.

“I’ve never seen a creature like this!” Nosakhare said. “I’ve heard tell of kraken and giant sea serpents. I wonder what the rest of it looks like.”

And then Ajibola could not stop himself from laughing. He had to grip the railing, so overcome with mirth. How long had it been since he’d laughed like this? He couldn’t remember. He felt a little bad, especially when Nosakhare frowned at him, but still the laughter wouldn’t leave him.

“What? _What_?” Nosakhare demanded.

“It’s just—” Ajibola took a breath to steady himself, but the smile was stuck on his face. “It is not a kraken or a serpent.”

Nosakhare’s brow furrowed. “So what is it?”

“It is a whale.”

“No. That looks nothing like a whale,” Nosakahre responded, peering hard now at the horizon. “Whales are not pink. They are large, and have no necks, and their backs have fins—”

“It is a whale’s… _member_ ,” Ajibola interrupted. There was a beat before the information truly sank in, and then Nosakhare’s eyes widened and the skin of his ears darkened.

“Its… member? Why is it above water? No. That can’t be.”

“It is true. Whales, they mate in threes.” He saw that Nosakhare didn’t understand, so Ajibola gently took the paper and charcoal out of his hands and drew a crude interpretation of whales. “Because they are in the water, there is no way to prevent the female from slipping away. So two males approach her, and they take turns. One beneath her, and the other above to keep her in place. And then when the calf is born, both males treat it as their own.”

“I—oh. So that is… that is the second male, awaiting his turn?” Nosakhare looked from Ajibola’s crude drawing back out to the ocean. “How do you know?”

Because once, long ago, Okun had taken Ajibola beneath the seas and shown him the dance of the whales.

He could not say that, so Ajibola shrugged. “I’ve seen it often enough, during my many ship voyages.”

Nosakhare bit his lip and lowered his eyes, perhaps due to embarrassment. Ajibola wondered if he should have kept silent and let the scholar believe what he wanted, but then Nosakhare looked up again and smiled.

“That’s fascinating! Thank you for telling me.”

The reaction surprised Ajiobla, and he floundered for words. “You’re… you’re welcome. I should probably get back to my duties.”

“Of course. I think I’ll keep observing some more.”

Apparently knowing he’d been drawing a whale’s penis didn’t deter him, and Nosakhare went back to sketching exactly what he saw.

* * *

Nosakhare approached Ajibola of his own volition the next time, joining him on the quarter deck. He brought with him a small, bound notebook and one book with an unfamiliar script on the cover.

“You know a lot about the ocean, right?”

The admiration in Nosakhare’s eyes stirred something in Ajibola, something he had to quickly bury. “I suppose. But, Nosakhare—”

“Nosa. Please call me Nosa. My full name is far too formal.” Nosa opened up his book to a page that had a picture of a kraken. “Can you tell me about this as well? Is it real? I never truly believed in them before, and now that you told me what the sea serpents actually were…”

The only kraken Ajibola had ever seen was Okun, early on in their courtship. Ajibola shrugged. “I can’t read what it says.”

That seemed to surprise Nosa. “No? But… don’t you keep a captain’s log?”

“I do. But I don’t write in this script.”

There’d been a change in the writing, some twenty years back, and Ajibola had never bothered to learn the new script decreed by the new rulers. He used the old runes of his youth—and even those, he’d had to learn painstakingly after he’d already gained his immortality. Literacy wasn’t that important for a poor fisherman’s son.

“Really? Do you use the old _firta_ script? Isn’t that more complicated? Where did you learn it?”

It seemed that he’d made a mistake in engaging with Nosakhare. Ajibola itched at all the questions, but he didn’t want to hurt Nosa’s feelings either. He ended up saying, “I’m from a village in the south. We didn’t receive the new alphabet until much later.”

Whether that was true or not, Ajibola didn’t know. He hadn’t returned to his home village in years. He stopped by, sometimes, to see how it developed. It was larger now than when he’d lived there; all his siblings were long dead, and their children were grandparents in their own right. Visiting always hurt his heart, and that was why he generally avoided it. Yet he couldn’t stay away entirely either, drawn back every few decades, like a wound he couldn’t stop poking.

Okun was always there after he left, ready comfort him.

“I heard the south allows men to have multiple wives,” Nosa commented. “Do you have wives? Sons?”

“No,” Ajibola said quickly. “The creature. I have never seen a kraken. But once we caught a giant squid in our net. It was as long as half our ship.”

It was a good enough distraction; Nosa was happy to listen to stories of sea creatures that Ajibola had encountered. He asked questions and made notes, and even made Ajibola draw an approximation of one of the creatures.

“It probably doesn’t look like that,” Ajiobla said after he’d drawn a crude anglerfish. “I saw it only once. They don’t usually come to the surface.”

Nosa patted Ajibola’s thigh and smiled. “But now I can imagine it better.”

The spot where his hand had touch stayed warm.

* * *

The moonlight shone through the windows of the captain’s cabin. Ajibola sat in front of the west-facing window and sipped a glass of palm wine.

He didn’t have to wait long before a set of arms wrapped around his shoulders, this time thin, cold, and clammy.

“You seem happy,” Okun said, pressing a kiss to the back of Ajibola’s neck. “Has your scholar been keeping you busy?”

“He is still not my scholar,” Ajibola said. He twisted his head so he could look at Okun properly. He looked like a drowned youth, seaweed trapped in his hair and his skin sallow and bloated. It should have disgusted him, but it was still Okun, and he had seen Okun in so many different guises that Ajibola was immune to even the most unnatural of forms. He opened his mouth when Okun kissed him, and he drank the brackish water that spilled from Okun’s mouth.

Before he ran out of breath, Okun pulled away. His smile showed off a large gap between the front teeth, which was so charming that Ajibola tugged on Okun for another kiss. He ended up with Okun on his lap, his cold, wet hands holding Ajibola’s head gently.

When they parted this time, Okun settled his head against Ajibola’s shoulder. “I like him, your Nosa. He asks good questions.”

“He does not believe in you.” Ajibola settled his arms around Okun in a protective embrace, as if he were the stronger one of the two. “He never offers prayers, and he refuses to speak about you with the pilgrims.”

Okun laughed and snuggled in closer. “I don’t need him to believe in me, if he pleases you.”

Since Ajibola did not want to discuss Nosakhare anymore, he stood up—Okun still in his arms—and walked them both over to the bed.

* * *

But he could not stop interacting with Nosa, and Nosa was becoming more and more clear in his intentions. For weeks, Ajibola did his best to pretend he didn’t notice the smiles or the teasing touches, yet on a few occasions he didn’t catch himself in time. He smiled back, and he leaned into touches, and he spent hours and hours conversing with the young man.

Ajibola hadn’t met anybody so interested in, well, _him_ in a long, long time.

“So that star is the one you navigate by? How does it work? I’ve heard of it, but the stars all look the same to me.” They sat at their customary spot on the quarter deck.

It was too dark for them to draw in Nosa’s notebook, so Ajibola pointed up at the sky and hoped Nosa could see where he was gesturing towards.

“That is the running girl. She holds a torch in her hand, to lead our way. The star of her torch is always constant, leading us north. When we know where north is, we can calculate where we are and what direction we need to go to reach our destination.” There was a bit more to it than that, a lot of calculation and relative positioning, various tools they used to make things more accurate—but for now, that would do. He was sure Nosa would ask him for more details later.

“Oh, my grandmother used to tell that legend. The girl who ran to warn her village of the attacking warriors. Amawu rewarded her bravery by immortalizing her in the sky.” Nosa bumped his shoulder against Ajibola’s. “Was your grandmother as good a storyteller as mine?”

Maybe. Ajibola couldn’t remember his youth all that well anymore. He turned to look at Nosa anyway, to make up an answer, and then Nosa’s lips were on his.

He froze.

Nosa’s eyes were closed, and his hands came to rest on Ajibola’s thighs. He extended his tongue to push against Ajibola’s lips, soft and insistent and—

Ajibola stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry. I—I can’t.”

“Oh.” Nosakhare’s voice shook. “Sorry. I misread. I always do this.” He rubbed his eyes, then smiled brokenly. “I’ll leave you alone. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

The pain in his expression made Ajibola’s chest tighten. A part of him wanted to reassure Nosa, to give in, but he knew that way lay more heartbreak for both of them. Nosa would grow old and die, and even disregarding that, Ajibola would never be able to love Nosa as fully as he deserved. A part of him would always, always, always belong to Okun.

So he simply watched as Nosa escaped below deck.

He should have known Okun would not leave it alone. Not a few moments later, an elderly man in flowing robes appeared on the spot Nosa had just vacated. He had no hair on his head, but his beard was long and gray.

Ajibola sighed and sat down next to him.

“You should have taken him up on his offer,” Okun said. “He is sincere, and clever, and would make you smile a lot.”

“Even if I did, how long would that last? He would notice that I don’t age.”

“Then you tell him that you have my favor, and that I have blessed your blossoming love.”

“It is not love,” Ajibola protested. “It is not what I feel for you. The depths of my emotions for you have never waned, not in all these years. How can a mere infatuation with a mortal compare?”

Okun’s smile this time had gaps where teeth were missing. “There are many forms of love, my heart. Not all of it need be as disastrous as your love for me.”

It was not the first time that Okun denigrated Ajibola’s feelings, yet it still angered him. Ajibola clenched his fists and tried to come up with clever words of protest, something that would convince Okun to stop pushing him away—but when he finally found a few, inadequate arguments, Okun was already gone.

* * *

With only a few days left to reach Okun’s temple, the pilgrims became livelier. Their daily prayers became more animated, and discussion of anything but religion seemed almost impossible.

It did not bother Ajibola, who had seen this behavior countless times before, but Nosa withdrew even more into himself. He was quiet while they ate, he didn’t join in card games or dances, and whenever Ajibola was forced to cross paths with him, Nosa studiously kept his eyes on his books.

It hurt, but Ajibola knew the hurt would pass. When they docked, he would suggest to Nosa to take another ship home. That would be easier for both of them.

“Land ho!” his first mate called, and that drew all passengers to the top deck so they could experience the marvel of seeing Okun’s temple appearing on the horizon, seeming to rise up from the ocean depths. It was a trick of perspective and architecture, but for those who had never seen it, it was like magic.

“Nosa! You’re missing it!” one of the pilgrims, the dancer, shouted.

Nosa, sitting on one of the benches with his eyes closed, shook his head. “I don’t care.”

The response was much too glib. One of the other pilgrims scowled and abandoned his spot and approached Nosa. “Show some respect, you godless ingrate. This is Okun’s temple you’re visiting.”

Nosa looked up at the man, blinking against the brightness o the sun. “I am indeed a godless heathen, so please leave me alone. I can’t be awed by cheap tricks.”

This couldn’t go well. Ajibola approached the group, forcing himself not to grimace. “Please, everybody. Let us be happy that we’ve almost arrived. The crew need to start preparing for docking. It would be best for all of you to go below deck so you don’t get in the way—”

“So, you’re siding with him?” the pilgrim demanded. He was one of the more zealous ones, who had prayed the loudest and made snide comments when he thought he perceived slights, as if that would gain him Okun’s favor. “What’s a scholar even doing on board this ship? This is a religious voyage.”

“My money is as good as yours,” Nosa shot back. “Better, probably, since I don’t insist on living in poverty just to appease some imaginary friend.” As soon as the words were out, he grimaced and turned to Ajibola. “I’m sorry. I know you believe.”

Before Ajibola could respond, the pilgrim interrupted, “You apologize to the captain but not to the rest of us?”

This wasn’t the first fight to break out on a ship, or even the first one caused by religious disagreement. Fleetingly, Ajibola wondered if Okun had directly caused it, but he dismissed that idea. Okun had seemed fond of Nosa; he wouldn’t have turned his followers against him on purpose.

“People!” Ajibola shouted, stepping between Nosa and the other man. “Cease this at once. I won’t have fighting on my ship. The crew have more important things to do than play nursemaid to all of you. Think of Okun’s anger if we were to botch anchoring the ship.”

The pilgrim looked properly mollified, but Nosa—Nosa started laughing.

Ajibola smothered the rising anger. He liked Nosa, but the immaturity on display annoyed him. It wouldn’t hurt Nosa to pretend to respect Okun just for the remainder of the journey.

“Nursemaid! Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? Coddling me? Humoring me?” Nosa grimaced and took a few steps back, gripping the ship’s railing. “I should have known better. Of course you weren’t interested in a heathen, a non-believer, an outsider—”

“I never said—” Ajibola reached out for Nosa, but Nosa slapped his hand away.

He looked even angrier than before. “Well, forget it. I’m going to prove all your stupid beliefs false.”

The crowd of onlookers—pilgrims and crew alike—gasped loudly. It seemed that Nosa only now noticed he had an audience, and he let go of the railing to extend his arms.

“That’s right! You want to know why I’m here? I’ve heard of your temple’s healing waters. The only ones in the world, curing diseases that were long-thought deadly. But you know what else?

“Your temple isn’t the only place! And I know it isn’t _magic_ that heals you. I know it’s the salt and the plants in the water. I’m going to bring some back. I’m going to compare it to other healing springs, and I’m going to find the actual reason, and I’m going to actually heal people instead of letting them go on long, pointless journeys.”

He ended his speech by pointing at the sick young girl, who was wide-eyed and shaking her head. “No. I trust in Okun,” she said. “Leave me out of this!”

And then it was too late. Ajibola shouted at them to stop, but the pilgrims rushed forward and started beating Nosakhare. He fought back, but he was just one man against ten. The crew stood back in confusion.

“Come on! Break up the fight!” Ajibola ordered as he gripped at the nearest body. He took a few punches himself, a pain that he hadn’t felt in a long time, but he endured it. He knew he could survive the beating. Nosa, though—

Before he reached Nosa, he saw the dancer giving him a shove. He saw Nosa try to grip the railing, and he saw Nosa go overboard when a fist came down hard on his hands. There was a shout, and then a loud splash.

“No!” Ajibola shouted.

“He deserved it!” the dancer said. “Did you hear him? He wants to steal from Okun!”

Ajibola snarled at her, “Okun does not care!” He threw his hat and coat off and said to the nearest crew member, “Bring rope! I’m going after him!”

By now, the pilgrims’ fervor died down, and some had the decency to look ashamed. Nobody offered to help, of course. Ajibola took the rope his crew member offered him and fastened it around his waist. He took his boots off too, and once he was sure the rope was secure, he jumped in.

The water embraced him as he dove in, and the blood in his veins pulsed and sang. He felt so _alive_. Nothing at all like his existence on land, where time went by in a blur and his senses were dulled.

It would be easy to allow Okun to take him now, to while away a few years together, away from people. But that way lay madness, too—a real, dangerous madness that Ajibola did not ever want to repeat. It had taken near a decade to recover from it.

So he focused himself and looked around for Nosakhare’s body.

At least he never had to worry about becoming disoriented. His eyesight worked perfectly underneath the waves, and while he did still need to breathe, it was not as pressing as it would have been for a mortal.

He found Nosakhare’s body floating near the stern, sinking deeper and deeper. Ajibola propelled himself towards him. When he saw that Nosakhare’s eyes were closed and his mouth was open, he nearly froze with worry.

No, he had to push through. He could save Nosakhare still, but he had to hurry.

He wrapped an arm around Nosakhare, then tugged on the rope. He didn’t wait for anybody to pull them up, though; he swam towards the surface as fast as he could, hoping that he wasn’t too late.

Nosakhare would survive. Nosakhare had to survive.

They broke the surface, but there was no long gasp of air from Nosa. By that point, the sailors on deck had started pulling Ajibola in. The rope burned against his skin, but Ajibola held Nosakhare tightly and whispered to him.

“I’m sorry. Please, I didn’t mean to hurt you. You are wrong, but you are right too. Please, don’t die.”

It felt like it took an age to finally make it back on deck. Ajibola felt sluggish, exhausted, but he knew he couldn’t stop here.

He lay Nosa on his side on the deck, the way Okun had taught him. He had to push the water out. A thin trickle of liquid escaped, but not nearly enough.

When nothing more came out, he laid Nosa flat on his back, held his nose closed with one hand, and leaned down.

“What are you doing?” one of the pilgrims demanded, her voice near hysterical. “He’s dead! That’s disgusting!”

He ignored her. The first breath he gave seemed to inflate Nosa’s chest. He did it again, and again, noting the shallow breaths. When it seemed he’d filled Nosa’s lungs enough, he pushed down on his chest. A bit more liquid came out.

He repeated the process, over and over. He was sure he’d snapped one of Nosa’s ribs.

Finally, after he felt almost out of breath himself, heavy with pain and anger and despair, Nosa coughed and took a proper breath.

Ajibola collapsed onto his side and laughed in relief.

“Captain?”

But as captain, he wasn’t allowed to rest. He steadied himself and looked up, surprised to see that the deck had been cleared and the sun was no longer straight above them. “How are we doing?”

His first mate replied, “We’re nearing the docks. Everything is ready. And… what should we do with the pilgrims? We have them locked up for now…”

“Leave them to the temple. The priestesses will decide what to do with them. But they aren’t welcome on the ship anymore.” Ajibola carefully took hold of Nosa and lifted him up. “I’m going to need to bring him to the temple. He needs the healing pool.”

His first mate’s eyebrows rose up. “You’re willing to take him?”

“Yes.” Ajibola looked her directly in the eyes. “Yes. He did nothing wrong.”

It was clear that she disagreed, but she knew better than to argue with him. Ajibola carried Nosa to his cabin, set him down on the bed, and kissed his forehead. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix you, don’t worry.”

* * *

The temple welcomed him back, as they always did, and did not question why he had a near-dead man with him. Nosa’s breathing was still shallow, and his skin had taken on a strange gray undertone where it wasn’t dark with bruises.

The priestesses left Ajibola alone in the sacred pool.

“Please, Okun,” Ajibola prayed, “Please, heal him.” He slowly lowered Nosa into the pool.

The waters rose up and formed the shape of a man in his prime, clear blue eyes and long, dark braids all the way down his back. He was naked, but he carried himself in such a way that it didn’t matter.

Okun did not smile or joke this time. He put a watery hand on Nosa’s forehead. “I can heal him, my chosen one, but are you certain?”

“He doesn’t deserve to die,” Ajibola said. “It was my fault.”

“It was the fault of man’s uneven temperament, and your scholar’s own bad judgment. He meant to provoke, he meant to hurt.”

Ajibola wanted to defend Nosakhare, but he knew there was little he could say that Okun did not already know. So he got to his knees and lowered his forehead until it touched the water. “Please, Okun. You said you liked him. You said he would make me smile. You said—”

“These things were true then, my heart. But if I revive him now, if I make him like you—he will not thank you. He will rage that you have destroyed his world view. He will spend years attempting to avoid the ocean.”

“That’s all right,” Ajibola said. “I have many years. I’ll help him. He wants to know the secrets of the world. We will give him the time he needs to learn everything. I’ll take him to new worlds. And I’ll teach him how to love you, too.”

The water tugged on his shoulders and forced him to stand. Okun caressed his jaw and gave him a freezing cold kiss, as terrible as the darkest depths of the oceans. Ajibola accepted it gladly, taking in all of Okun’s love and desire.

When Okun pulled away, he said, “Kiss him. Give him my essence. Let it flow through him. And help him. Be kind, and gentle, and allow him his anger. Remember how angry you were, and how much it hurts to see the world die around you.”

The water lifted Nosa upright and cradled him while Ajibola kissed him. At first it was like kissing a dead man, but the lips soon warmed, and the water’s embrace turned more solid with it. He drew back, and saw the last of Okun’s gift slipping into Nosa’s throat.

Nosa’s eyes blinked open. “A… Ajibola?”

Ajibola nodded and wrapped his arms around Nosa. Okun tightened his own embrace on the both of them.

“I’m sorry,” Ajibola said. “I did not mean to make you feel alone. And I am sorry I rejected you. It was not because of you.”

Nosa frowned, and instead of answering, he turned his head to look at Okun.

“Who—?”

Okun smiled gently. “I am the one you do not believe in, little scholar.” He released them both. “I will share my beloved Ajibola with you, Nosakhare.” He made a sweeping gesture, and a ball of water floated up. “And I will give you this water, so you may study it. Find your answers. Cure your home village.”

“No,” Nosakhare said. “No. You aren’t—you aren’t real. This isn’t—”

“It is as I said.” Okun nodded at Ajibola. “Help him. Follow the rivers, this time. We will part for a few decades, but I think the absence will do you good.”

With that, he dissolved into the water again, though his sphere remained, helpfully nudging against Nosa’s hands.

Nosakhare stumbled back a few steps. “What—what happened? How… why…?”

Ajibola took Nosakhare’s hands into his own and kissed them gently. “You expressed an interest in me. I turned you down, but not because I did not return your affections. It is because my heart belongs to Okun. I thought that meant I could not love another.”

Nosakhare gave him a bewildered look. “But now you can?”

“Okun has given his blessing. And—and now you are like me. Immortal.”

Of course Nosakhare did not believe him. It would take a while for that reality to sink in.

It was all right. Ajibola had time.


	2. Epilogue

The two of them sat on a beach with pink sand and looked out onto the ocean and the setting sun. Nosa had buried his feet in the sand, and massaged one of Ajibola’s hands.

“He cannot possibly care for me,” Nosakhare said quietly. “He’ll take his waters back.”

“He will not,” Ajibola assured him. “Okun has always been generous. He does not care that you still don’t truly believe in him.” He curled his fingers and squeezed Nosa’s hand.

They didn’t have to wait long for Okun to appear—not from the ocean, as they’d expected, but from behind them. His form this time was of a fisherman, his dark skin shining with drops of water and the bottom of his skirts wet.

“It has been a while, my heart,” Okun said, embracing Ajibola from behind. Nosa let go of Ajibola’s hand and averted his gaze.

“I’ve missed you,” Ajibola answered.

After a brief kiss, Okun released Ajibola and circled to their front. He sat down right over Nosakhare’s feet, and rested his hands on Nosa’s knees.

“And you, my scholar. Have you found your calm depths?”

Nosa’s hands dug into the sand. “I’m not sure. But thank you for… for lending Ajibola to me.”

Ajibola and Okun shared a meaningful glance. Even without having seen each other for near twenty years, they still understood each other so well. Perhaps it was the waters inside his veins, perhaps it was familiarity. Still, Ajibola knew what Okun wanted. He placed an arm around Nosa’s shoulders and kissed him gently on the cheeks.

“Did you think this was a temporary arrangement?” Ajibola asked him.

Nosa tried to shift away, but Okun held him in place, and after a bit of struggle Nosa gave up. He settled into Ajibola’s embrace properly. “No? I don’t know. We had a good time together, but I know you miss Okun, and…”

“It is like the whales, my scholar,” Okun said. “Do you remember? They form groups of three. My ocean is vast, my waters run deep. There is enough of me to embrace two of you. And I know that Ajibola’s heart is not so small either.” He kissed Nosa’s forehead. “The question is, will you share Ajibola with me? Can you abide by that?”

Tears sprang from Nosa’s eyes. It was not the first time that Ajibola saw him crying, but it was the first time that they were tears of joy. Nosa nodded and, of his own volition, leaned up to kiss Okun. “Yes. Thank you.”

Ajibola smiled so wide his mouth almost hurt. He placed his hands over Okun’s on Nosa’s body, guiding Nosa to lie on the sand. They loved each other there, in the setting sun, the ocean’s gentle waves washing over them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did a bunch of research on ships and stuff. If I screwed something up, let me know and I'll fix it.
> 
> ... and about the whales: I saw that whales probably don't actually have wingmen, but this is a fantasy world and my fantasy whales absolutely form groups of threes. 😂


End file.
